She had escaped from Uncle Harold. It might only be a temporary escape for a month, but she had still escaped. No penny pinching, mean minded, disapproving glances for several weeks, and she would be warm in this lovely room, with acomfortable chair close to the fire, the perfect place to read and to write.
Her friend Marianne knew her secret, and at an elegant desk near the window she saw a pile of parchment, quill pen and ink, all ready for her.
After tidying her hair, making sure the looped hairstyle covered her scars, she made her way down to the orangery.
As she entered the glass-fronted room she felt a sense of wonder. The scent of aromatic plants greeted her, and the rays of the sun felt warm on her face. She admired the exotic lemon trees in planters, and the vines climbing to the height of the room. Marianne had thrown open the glass doors which led to a terrace and knot garden, which was so close it felt it was almost part of the room.
Marianne stood on the terrace, gazing at the view of the Chiltern Hills on the horizon. Olivia made her way outside to join her friend.
“I didn’t hear you. I was lost looking at the view. I never tire of seeing the hills and the path down to Leighton Wood,” said Marianne. “Look over there you can just see the turrets of Belvedere Abbey, home of the Duke of Hargrove, and one of the finest houses in the county.”
“I’ve heard of Belvedere Abbey, it’s quite famous. Is it true that a lady who was married to a Plantagenet King once lived there?”
“I believe so. Christopher told me that they met in the woodland, just over there, down by the stream. The King was out hunting and got separated from the rest of his party. His horse bolted and threw him off and he lay injured in Leighton Woods. He lost consciousness, and when he awoke, he looked up into the green eyes of Lady Matilda. He thought she was a fairy, from the Land of Fey. Of course they fell in love instantly.”
“What a beautiful story,” exclaimed Olivia.
“I love those old stories. Their love was real though, and they were married in the chapel at Belvedere Abbey. What we need now is a love match and happy ending for you, my dear friend.”
“I think not, not now, after ….” Olivia started to object but Marianne ignored her.
“Nonsense, hardly anyone would notice those scars. I never thought I would see you looking so lovely again.”
“Ah, I cannot agree, but thank you for reassuring me.” Olivia took her friend's hand and squeezed it gently with affection. “It isn’t just the disfigurement though. I’m penniless. No fortune and a scarred face. I don’t think I will ever find a husband.”
“Penniless? Surely not? Your family is wealthy, and I know Papa told me your father set up a specific inheritance for you, which was independent of the entail. Your brother did the same for Jocelyn.”
“All I know is what Uncle Harold told me, which is that I must find a husband in the next season in London, and he wants rid of me from under his roof. In his own words, he cannot be expected to keep me forever.”
“Hmm. That seems very strange. Even if it is true though, you have looks and a character which will attract the eligible gentlemen of theton. In fact, I believe I should enjoy being in London again for a season myself. Of course, this time I shall only dance waltzes with my beloved Viscount. I may well join you in London, my friend.”
Olivia smiled gratefully, knowing a season would be easier to bear if her friend was alongside her, as they had been in their first season in society.
Marianne continued, “Come, let’s take tea, then I’ll show you the knot garden. There’s a secret place to sit at the other side of the garden, and if we have warm weather, I can just imagine you taking your pen and notebook and writing there.”
Later, after being greeted by Marianne’s husband Christopher, Viscount Leighton, they all enjoyed an evening dinner. Theythen sat next to a roaring fire, sharing stories, news and much laughter, before Olivia retired to her bedchamber.
As she sat in her room, close to the fire, ready to write in her journal, Olivia wondered whether there was any truth in what Marianne had said about her fortune. Her brother Frederick, who had been her guardian since her father died many years ago, had always told her she would come into her inheritance at twenty-five, or earlier if married.
Despite the tragedy which had devastated her family, there was no reason to think anything had changed financially for her or, in fact, for Jocelyn. The title and estate were entailed to the male line of descent, but it could be possible her uncle had been wrong, and she would be well provided for.
Putting it out of her mind Olivia took up her quill pen and proceeded to write in her journal. The words flew across the page as she described her day of travel and the joy of friendship at Leighton.
Then, in her mind's eye she saw a hero, perhaps a duke with fifteen thousand a year, in search of a duchess, riding a stallion across the Chiltern Hills. Her pen began to record her ideas as the basis for a story swirled around her imagination. The duke was determined never to marry, but she knew that would change in a few chapters.
***
The next few days passed by in a whirl of activity. Marianne insisted they go shopping in Longhamsted, the nearest town, which possessed not one but two haberdashery shops, both piled high with bolts of muslin and silk.
Despite Olivia’s protestations Marianne identified several fabrics which she insisted complimented Olivia’s complexion perfectly. After pouring over fashion plates, she announced that her own wardrobe was outdated, and alterations and new gowns were needed.
Marianne seemed determined to join her friend for a season in London in the spring. She arranged for the dressmaker to visit Leighton Manor and, from the arrangements Marianne was making, it sounded to Olivia as though a team of seamstresses might be taking up residence at the manor.
Marianne in a determined mood was a force to be reckoned with and Olivia gave up protesting. She enjoyed looking at the puffed sleeves and lower necklines from Paris. Silk, sprig muslin and velvet for cloaks, ribbons and lace were ordered by her friend.
By the time they reached the milliner’s shop, Olivia was exhausted, though her friend seemed energized by the frenzy of shopping. She suspected the haberdasher and milliner had just experienced their most profitable day of the year.
For the first time in several long, miserable months, Olivia felt relaxed and away from Swanbourne she hardly felt any of her old anxiety. This first visit to her friend since her wedding to Viscount Leighton, one hot July afternoon the previous summer, had been just the tonic she needed.
